


It's not what you think.

by somanyhands



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: I'm being stingy on the tags, because I don't want to give anything away yet, suffice to say it'll be explicit in time!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyhands/pseuds/somanyhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John looked at himself in the mirror for a long few minutes, studying every feature, every line, every piece of himself. <br/>He didn't look any different. <br/>How could something so significant be happening in his life, changing everything about him yet making no outward impact on him whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John looked at himself in the mirror for a long few minutes, studying every feature, every line, every piece of himself. He didn't look any different. He frowned at the realisation. How could something so significant be happening in his life, changing everything about him yet making no outward impact on him whatsoever. It felt weird. It felt... wrong.

He scowled at Doctor John Watson in the reflection and ran a hand through his hair. It had needed a cut. He had thought that perhaps a haircut would show the difference between how he felt before and how he felt now. Maybe a new style? John cocked his head at his freshly cut style and rolled his eyes. It barely looked any different to every other time he'd had it cut really.. There really are only so many ways you can style a crew cut. Probably no one would even notice.

He turned in the bathroom and flicked on the shower, turning the heat up slightly hotter than usual. The extra heat invigorated him; made him feel, and the steam opened his pores so he could get properly clean. He wanted to be properly clean. It was another important night tonight.

Most nights had been important lately, of course. He would either meet around 9pm or after midnight, depending on Sherlock's mood and schedule. He had only had to cancel twice in the past 2 weeks and both times we're Sherlock's fault. Needless to say, the cancellations did not go down well, and John had 2 decidedly frosty meetings the following evenings.

"That man rules your life, you know. You shouldn't let him, John."

John knew it was true, of course. It was (nearly) almost easier to pander to Sherlock's every whim than to not. Living with a disgruntled Sherlock was no fun at all. It was hell, in fact. That was partly why John had gone out of his way to find company each evening. Sherlock's idea of an evening in usually involved pacing the flat, shouting random obscenities at everything and everyone and creating noxious fumes over the kitchen table. John was determined to find himself some proper company. Company with whom he could be himself; let his hair down (metaphorically speaking, of course); have a good time.

He'd been surprised when he'd discovered that it wasn't as difficult to find as he had anticipated. 

And so there he was, in front of the mirror, getting reading for their tenth, no eleventh meeting in a fortnight. 

He reached into the shower to check the water temperature and nipped into the bedroom to prepare his clothes. He pulled out his best shirt, a kind of bluey-purple colour with an iridescent sheen to it. He wasn't sure why it mattered really. It wasn't as if he would be wearing it for most of the night. He snorted at his own line of thinking as he pulled out a pair of smart, dark blue jeans and checked that his shoes were still clean.  
Grabbing his new aftershave from the dresser and bringing it, along with his clean underwear, into the bathroom with him, he began his preparations for going out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's 3 evenings already this week, John. When are you going to introduce me to the lucky lady?"

"I'm off out, Sherlock." John shouted to the detective whose head was bowed low over his latest experiment. He had been working on the effects of cola on baby teeth for the past 3 days, and John was beginning to get creeped out by the sight of them every time he opened the fridge.

Sherlock looked up from the Petri dish with a confused frown.

"Again?" he asked, putting down the syringe he was holding and turning in his chair.

"That's 3 evenings already this week, John. When are you going to introduce me to the lucky lady?"

John's arm stopped mid-way to his jacket as he fell still under the scrutiny of his flatmate. He could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into him, almost hearing the silent deductions being made behind his back.

_Showered for the second time today._   
_Best shirt._   
_New aftershave._   
_Slightly changed haircut._   
_And was that a rucksack he was carrying?_

"Sherlock." John said, his voice carrying the firm tone of the warning that was to follow, "Please stop deducing me."

The doctor continued his move to retrieve his jacket from the hook, sliding it around his shoulders and, with the rucksack slung on one, he disappeared out of the living room door of 221B, pulling it decisively closed behind him.

Sherlock stared after him, watching the back of the door intently as if he could see through it, past it and down the street to follow his flatmate. He sat back in the kitchen chair and steepled his fingers against his lips.

Where was John going during these evenings? He hadn't mentioned anybody new in his life, but Sherlock had initially assumed that it was a girlfriend that John was visiting. He supposed that he had just taken to keeping his personal life deliberately separate from his "Sherlock life", knowing full well how the detective had a penchant for destroying his relationships. Perhaps John just hadn't wanted to share the information this time.  
Sherlock had asked him a couple of times in the past fortnight but John was evasive. He would change the subject, often finding something about which to criticise his flatmate instead.

"Can you move these teeth from the fridge, Sherlock?"   
"Where did you move the bread to, Sherlock?"  
"How did you manage to get motor oil on the bathroom light fitting, Sherlock?"  
"Why is the skull upside down and full of... what IS that, Sherlock?"

There was always avoidance; distraction. Never an answer to the "Where are you going, John?" that Sherlock needed.

But something wasn't right. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something different about this. He hadn't let the good doctor know it, but he had been fully aware that, in addition to the 7 times he had watched John leave to go out in the past fortnight, he had also heard him sneak out during the night on a further 4 occasions.

Sherlock hadn't called him on it - not yet, at least - but, on each of those evenings, John Hamish Watson had purposely waited until they had retired for the evening and then, like a teenager, he had gathered his things and snuck out of 221B, returning within 5 or 6 hours, presumably in an attempt to avoid Sherlock's detection.  
On 3 of those occasions, Sherlock had been in his bedroom as John re-entered the flat. On the fourth, it had been close. It was 4.30am and Sherlock had been checking on an experiment in the kitchen when he heard the door to Baker Street open downstairs.  
He had hastily retreated back to his bedroom before John had slipped up the second set of stairs and into his bedroom.  
Again, Sherlock didn't mention it. If it was a girlfriend, he didn't really want to know.

Sentiment.

He left John to that.

But it didn't stop him wondering, as the evening departures, both announced and covert, continued, where John was going. The more he studied John as he left each time, the more Sherlock became sure that he wasn't going on any ordinary date. 

What did it mean? Where was he going, what was he doing, and who was he going to meet?

Sherlock pushed himself away from the kitchen table, abandoning the experiment for yet another day. His mind was now preoccupied; running a thousand scenarios through his head. The whos, the wheres, the whys, the what fors. There was so much that he didn't know, and he couldn't concentrate on anything else.

He dropped himself down onto the sofa and, lying back and resuming his pose, he closed his eyes and thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% sure whether I'm continuing this fic.  
> What do you think?
> 
> Do you want more?

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I have a plot bunny nibbling at my ankles to make me write.
> 
> It's early days, and I really don't want to give the main plotline away.
> 
> I shall add tags as they become clearer, so please ensure that you check the tags (they'll be accompanied by a note at the beginning) so you don't get shocked or put off by something you didn't expect.  
> K?
> 
> So what says you?  
> Want more??


End file.
